


Beyond Time

by HighlandRose



Series: Pinterest One-Week Prompts [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Break Up, Cheating, F/M, Finding Love, Moving On, Over seas move, Spirits, possible time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighlandRose/pseuds/HighlandRose
Summary: Second week prompt was one I picked, and I had a great deal of fun with this one.Pinterest Prompt: You are cleaning out the attic of your home when you find a dusty, old, leatherbound diary. The date inside is from 150 years ago. You start to read, and the author writes about strange things that happened in the house; items moving mysteriously, strange sounds, etc. The final entries describe seeing a ghost, in great detail, hair color, eye color, clothes. The description of the ghost matches you exactly.Challenge: Must include a pet.
Series: Pinterest One-Week Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907113
Kudos: 1





	Beyond Time

“Aye, Mrs. McConnell, I remember. Yes, set the tap to drip so the pipes don’t freeze.” Genevieve stifled a sign so her realtor wouldn’t hear it. When she’d bought the place, she’d assured the elderly woman that she was fully capable of keeping the little house up and running, but she’d insisted on calling each night for one reason or another.

“That’s good dear. We get some awful bitter winters, not like those in the states.” Elsie McConnell prattled on. If she actually had something to do, Genevieve might have used it as an excuse to end the conversation, but she was blissfully chore free. Besides, she was growing to like the nightly talks with the woman; they made her feel less alone in this country. 

“I’ve heard about the winters. Don’t worry; I’m prepared.” As prepared as any woman who’d just moved from the United States with nothing but what she could get on a plane could be.

“And if you’re stuck at the cottage from the snow, you ken you can call to the store and Magnus’ll send his boy with what ye need?” In such a small town, it wouldn’t be too difficult to simply walk to the little general store, but it was a lovely little offer that brought a faint smile to her cold lips.

“I think that was written on the papers you gave me when I closed on the house, but thank you for reminding me.” Sans car for the time being, she might just have to take Magnus MacArthur up on his offer to get her groceries if the snow got much deeper while she slept. If she slept. Her sleep had been so interrupted by the jet lag and time difference that it would be a miracle if she could find a somewhat normal sleep pattern by the month’s end.

“Alrighty dear, I’ll hop off now and let ye get to yer work.” Genevieve thanked her one last time for all her help and then wished her a good night. A sharp bark from behind as she hung up her phone made her jump and clutch her chest against the racing of her heart.

“Angus!” The large and somewhat raggedy dog seemed completely uncaring of her scolding. He simply turned his head to the kitchen like he expected to go there, and she remembered that Elsie had said he was particular about his mealtimes. “I’ll not be bossed around by some dog who’s not even mine.” That was only partially true though since, apparently, to her dismay, Angus _was_ her dog.

“ _He comes with the house dearie_ ,” Mrs. McConnell had told her when Genevieve had tried to shoo him when he’d come in during her open house. The mutt had simply sauntered in like he owned the place and it had perturbed her that she couldn’t have the house unless she took the beast. Her parents had never been dog people, too much hair and slobber for their liking, so how was she supposed to know how to take care of him?

In her musing, she failed to notice Angus’s growing agitation, so he let out another thundering bark, scaring her once more.

“Why couldn’t you be a Pomeranian?” She threw her arms up in frustration, but he didn’t care, only meandered to the kitchen like he expected her to be a good human and follow. Even though she found herself walking back down the hall towards the kitchen, she assured herself it was because _she_ was hungry, and _not_ because her dog had yelled at her.

The little kitchen was cozy, idyllic almost, having the kind of Better Homes and Gardens look she’d always wanted, yet never had the time to achieve. When Evan had lived with her, she’d tried to make the house beautiful, but he never noticed. He didn’t usually notice any effort she put in to making their life together better.

After serving his highness, Genevieve pulled out what she needed for a sandwich, which was about as fancy of a dinner as she could manage without a stocked pantry. Depending on how long it would take her to get more groceries, she would need to make the peanut butter and jelly last, so she spread a meager layer of each and made sure she licked the knife clean before she set it in the sink. She’d told herself the last time she was at the general store that she would need more than she’d gotten, but the thought of carry heavy bags all the way home sounded just awful.

Angus stood over his bowl in the corner by the table, noisily munching away at his kibble, and given their earlier spat, she wasn’t exactly inclined to sit a foot away from him to eat if she had to listen to his chomping.

Taking her sandwich with her, Genevieve ate slowly as she walked through the house, making a mental list of everything she needed to do. The house had already been dusted and vacuumed when she moved in only a week and a half ago, so there was little in the way of cleaning that needed to be done. In the next day or so she would be getting some boxes from home in the mail and she would need several days to unpack them; without that chore, there was very little for her to actually do. She supposed she could pull out her laptop and do some work, but that thought didn’t appeal to her any more than the idea of having dinner with Angus.

When she bought the house, the owner had offered to sell it furnished for very little added cost, so she’d eagerly accepted to avoid the small fortune she’d have to spend to ship her belongings from the U.S. Whoever it was had left behind seemingly everything they’d owned; the shelves were lined with knickknacks, the cupboards were filled with dishes, even the china hutch still held some of the loveliest rose-patterned China she’d ever seen.

Logically, she knew she owned all of these things, but it felt as though she were snooping through someone else’s life. Genevieve had tried explaining that to Elsie when she’d seen the house, but Elsie had assured her the owner didn’t want any of it. Too many memories, she’d said, and Genevieve had to just accept that.

“There’s nothing _else_ to do.” Mulling the options over, she too another bite of sandwich, wishing she had just a little bit of milk to wash it down. The milk had run out this morning, but she’d been too busy unpacking clothes to go. She went to the front table and scratched out a note to get her ass to the store in the morning. Her message was underlined three times just to remind herself she was serious. Another day’s worth of sandwiches and she might go insane.

That being done, Genevieve crept over to the den area to look through the books and movies on the shelves. Whoever had lived here must have loved the classics. David Copperfield, Wuthering Heights, Moby Dick, the complete works of Shakespeare. Many of them she’d read herself in her high school and college days, though she’d donated her copies to the school after she’d finished with them. It was nice to that the old stories were still appreciated by someone. Likewise, the movies were older too, mostly consisting of Carry Grant era black and white films. Maybe the owner was older? If they’d gone to a nursing home or whatever they had in Scotland it made sense that they would have left everything behind.

Sheer curiosity had her pulling the thick volume of Shakespearian works, flipping open the front cover. The name Logan MacArthur was scrawled in masculine handwriting in the corner. Maybe he was related to the store owner. Doing the same to the copy of Jane Eyre, she saw Anne MacArthur, who she suspected to be his wife. Each little discovery was helping her to piece together the lives of those who’d lived here before her.

Down toward the bottom of the bookshelf were several volumes of Scottish history which could have been either of theirs, and a book of coats of arms. If she flipped through it, she would probably find her mother’s family’s coat of arms; despite her darker coloring, she was indeed part of the Forsyth.

“Repairer of Ruin,” she muttered aloud, reminded once again by the family motto that she’d failed. In her whole life, Genevieve couldn’t remember a time that she’d repaired any sort of ruin; quite the contrary. Around every twist and turn life threw her, she seemed to run headlong into her own ruination. With a bitter laugh, she turned away from the shelf and the reminder and walked down the little hallway towards the bedroom she’d claimed as her office. If she were of the mind to think about her future beyond her desperate need to go to the store, she might have mused that that particular room would have made a lovely nursery, but she didn’t entertain such thoughts; not after Evan.

The hall was suspiciously bare, and she couldn’t help but run her hand along the length of it, feeling the aged smoothness of the wall paper beneath her fingertips. At one point, there had to have been pictures or decorations of some sort hanging there. In her head, she could imagine the walls lined with all sorts of pictures. Pictures from adventures taken, journeys traveled, memories made. She could see pictures of family smiling, of birthdays and holidays spent together like warm tight knit families had.

Tears came on fast, blurring the red and cream floral pattern of the wall, and Genevieve barely had time to press her hand to her mouth before a sob tore from her throat. _Damn you Evan_ , she cursed bitterly in her mind. Six months ago her life was fine; she had a nice house, a steady job, a wonderful fiancé. Life had been her idea of perfect until the rug was pulled from beneath her.

Back against the wall, Genevieve slid down to the floor. Why wouldn’t the weight just fall from her shoulders? She’d done everything she could to leave the bad memories behind her; she’d broken things off with Evan entirely, blocked his number, sold her house, moved to a _different country_. But nothing seemed to help. It felt to her that she’d be haunted the rest of her life by everything that laid in her past.

A nudge to her arm startled her, and she opened her slightly puffy eyes to see Angus sitting eye-level beside her with a bundle of some sort of cloth. Up close like this, she could see how pretty the mutts deep amber eyes were, but it unsettled her just how sympathetic they looked. Was she really that desperate for someone to understand that she thought _Angus_ cared? The mutt in question dropped the cloth in her lap, waiting for her to pick it up. The green and red diamond pattern reminded her of Christmas, but unfolding it, Genevieve quickly dropped it back to her lap.

“I am absolutely _not_ putting a sweater on a dog.” Angus merely scooted a hair closer and nosed the sweater, making sure to look as pathetic as possible while he did it. “No. I’m not changing my mind.” Well her determination only earned her a soft woof and a deep rumble from Angus that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Ten minutes later, Genevieve noted that Angus looked quite dashing in Christmas colored argyle. He spun around triumphantly in his sweater, only making Genevieve scowl at him as she stood back up. Even the damned dog was waking all over her, though unlike human men, he wasn’t going to leave her for another woman.

Seeing Angus jump around like a pup brought a smile to her face, and she couldn’t help but giggle. Once Angus heard the sound, he dropped his front paws to the ground, leaving his hindquarters in the air and wagged his tail playfully. Being such a large dog, he looked absolutely ridiculous jumping around in a sweater. Delicate peals of laughter bubbled out of her, and something inside of her felt a tiny bit renewed like a gentle mist to a thirsty flower.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” she told Angus, though she couldn’t quite keep her tone serious. Very contrary to her words, Genevieve hesitantly reached out a hand to pat it head. He leaned into her touch, and let out a deep sigh as though her touch were the best thing in the world. That was how she found herself back on the ground with his massive head in her lap, scratching behind his floppy ears. Once she could look past his rather bossy nature, Angus was really a big softy. Why weren’t people this easy to be affectionate with? She and Evan had been together for four years, first as friends and then as lovers. From the very beginning of their romantic life together, she had assured herself that he wasn’t anything like her other exes.

Evan was sweet and attentive and everything she’d wanted in a boyfriend. They went out for romantic dates, they laughed together, and it really seemed to her that they had a shot at having a future together. He’d been a little standoffish when she started talking about the future, but she just chalked it up to him being a guy. Most guys didn’t like commitment talk, and it was easy to reason that she was just maybe bringing it all up too early.

All her fears were assuaged when he’d proposed quite unexpectedly on a date at her favorite restaurant. It had been completely cliché, but he seemed sincere and she was too in love with him to question it at the time. What woman in her right mind would think anything was wrong when her man was whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he slipped a lovely diamond ring onto her finger?

Looking back, Genevieve could have sworn she remembered a glint of something in his eyes when he’d gotten down on one knee. Had it been reluctance? Maybe even regret? Perhaps it was something in his voice that had sounded so sure and steady. There _had_ to have been some sign that she’d missed because she hadn’t been prepared for the shock she’d received just a week later.

That day had started out so perfectly. Evan had kissed her awake and she’d taken a delightfully warm shower as he cooked her breakfast. She had chatted with coworkers and her boss had even let her go home early. If she’d actually stayed until closing, caught a later train, or maybe stopped off at a shop before going home, Genevieve might not have had her whole world wrecked in the cruelest way possible. She’d come home to her lovely little house, excited to finally have the time to make a nice home-cooked meal that was ready for Evan when he came home from a long day at his job. It didn’t even occur to her that there was a car packed on the street out front; she probably thought it was a person visiting her neighbors.

Everything looked normal when she’d come in, so she’d taken off her shoes and run up the stairs to strip off her pantyhose and possibly change into some more comfortable clothes. The door to her bedroom was closed, and that made her pause for only a moment; she could have sworn she left it open, but maybe Evan had closed it after she’d left.

Genevieve would never forget the way her stomach clenched and dropped like a lead weight when she opened the door to see Evan tangled in their sheets with another woman. Two sets of surprised eyes locked onto her, and their motions ceased. The room started to spin and Genevieve had stumbled to the en suite bathroom to heave her guts up. Over the disgusting sounds of being sick into the toilet, she could hear a lot of shuffling around and arguing.

“ _You swore you were single!_ ” The girl was screaming, and Evan’s pathetic excuse was muffled by another round of heaving. When Genevieve pulled her head from the toilet once more, she heard a loud crack that sounded suspiciously like a slap, followed by angry footsteps leaving the room.

She’d later found out that the girl’s name was Abigail, and that she worked at a bar that Evan frequented. Abigail had come back to the house only hours after the incident, and Genevieve had to give her kudos for having either the courage or audacity to do so. By that point, Genevieve had already tossed Evan out of the house along with everything of his that she could fit in his luggage, but Abigail had only come to apologize and pick up her phone which had been left behind in all the chaos.

Abigail had sworn on everything she held dear that she’d had no knowledge of Genevieve, that Evan had promised her he was single. Despite her best judgment, she’d actually invited Abigail in. They’d shared a bottle of wine, one she’d intended on saving for their anniversary, and that’s when Genevieve started to see the bigger picture. Abigail was every bit as fair as Genevieve was dark, her clothes were more edgy, and she gave of an aura of adventure and confidence; she was everything Genevieve could never hope to be.

It was in this wine-hazed night that Genevieve had hatched the plan to move to Scotland. Her mother’s family had mainly come from Scotland, so what better way to cure her broken heart than to move to the land of her ancestors?

That was how Genevieve found herself sitting on the floor of her new home with a mammoth of a dog laying halfway in her lap. Her head thumped lightly against the wall, and her throat felt tight with tears she hated to shed.

“Why couldn’t he love me Angus?” The words weren’t meant to be said aloud, but they slipped free from her as though she’d simply needed them to be heard. “Why can’t someone just love me?” It was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t someone love her enough to not hurt her? To not abandon her when something new and better came along? Just when she might have begun to cry in earnest, Angus jumped up and seized her pant leg between his teeth.

“What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” She tried reaching down to pull it from his mouth, but he let out an annoyed growl, tugging hard, though not hard enough to ruin her sweatpants. The notion that he wanted her to follow him passed through he head, but that was just crazy. Dogs didn’t lead people places…

Angus, however, was determined to prove her wrong, and continued until she finally stood up. He let go, but gave a loud bark and ran up the stairs, waiting at the top for her. _Well, what the hell_? If this was the strangest thing she ever did, she would count herself lucky, so she followed the damn dog to where he stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Really? You try to ruin my pants to get me into the hall?” It made absolutely no sense. Even less sense than her decision to follow him in the first place. As she turned to walk away, Angus yelped. He reared back on his hind legs, lunging towards the ceiling. For a moment, she thought he was going crazy, but she looked up and saw the hatch to the attic.

Elsie had mentioned the attic to her very briefly before moving day, and Genevieve remembered her saying she wasn’t sure what was up there. Genevieve herself wasn’t too keen to go up there, but Angus was clearly pushing her to do so, and who was she to argue with him?

“If I die up there, you’re a goner too. I’m not coming back as a ghost to feed you.” He only plopped his bottom on the ground and thumped his tail happily. _Genevieve Donovan, died while following a dog’s suggestion_ , was not what what she wanted her tombstone to read, but she supposed she’d have to find out eventually what was up there.

The brass handle was within reach if she stood on her tip toes, so she grabbed hold and pulled it down, careful to stay out of the way of the ladder that came down. Using her phone as her light, she shined it up into the dark attic. When nothing popped out at her, she took one last look at Angus, lying on the floor like a lazy bum, and ascended up into the unknown.

Up inside the attic, it was pitch black. The still air was thick and heavy, scented with dust, but thankfully she couldn’t pick up any smell of mildew or mold. Even with the light from her flashlight on, it took her a moment to adjust to the intense darkness. It was quite a large room, though the pitched roof did limit the useable space within, but she imagined that she could store quite a few things up there if she could get them through the small attic door. She spun around slowly, letting her light sweep over each nook and cranny. Aside from several stacks of white sheets, presumably used to cover the furniture, there was only one thing of interest: A black steamer trunk sitting in the far corner. Walking towards it, Genevieve had no choice but to get down to her hands and knees as she hit the slop of the ceiling. It wasn’t overly large, but it was fairly weighty and by the time she’d wrestled it out from the corner, she was panting a bit.

Her next obstacle was the padlock that held the lid sealed shut. Discouragement only lingered for a second before she found the key laying under a layer of dust on the corner of the trunk, like it was just waiting for her to find it. She took the lock in her hand, the weight of it cool and heavy and oddly comforting. The key slid in without catching, and she couldn’t help but hold her breath as it silently turned until it softly clicked open. With lightly trembling hands, she pulled the lock off and cracked the trunk open just enough to take a peek inside, and what she found was unexpected.

Stacked along the bottom, were thick, cloth wrapped bundles that looked vaguely like large books, but if they were, it made it all the more strange that one leather-bound volume laid unwrapped on top of the rest. Without a title or any identifying marks on the cover, Genevieve thought that the book has to be a type of journal. Was it wrong to be so curious about it? Using her flashlight hand, she held it open and grabbed it with her other hand, but jerked back when the sound of a disgruntled bark from down the ladder, followed by pathetic whining.

“Fine, Angus, I’ll come down.” Dragging down the trunk didn’t sound like a great idea at the time, so journal in hand, Genevieve shuffled back over to the door and shuffled down the ladder. Angus jumped around again, excited to see her emerge safely from the depths of the attic, and he followed close on her heels when she went to her room to change out of her dust-caked clothes. Pulling on her night gown, she tried to imagine what might be in the journal; it looked fairly old, and in the brighter light of her bedroom, she could see deep cracks along the spine. Someone had used it or read it many times, and that stoked the fire of her interest.

As late as it was, she decided to crawl under the covers with the book rather than go back downstairs. At least this way, if she fell asleep while reading, she’d be somewhere comfortable. She sank back into the pillows and cracked open the front cover. Whatever hesitance she felt over reading someone’s journal melted away when she saw the date at the top of the page.

 _Spring 1870_ , was written in a bold, masculine hand. One hundred and fifty years. After the initial shock had worn out, she marveled that the journal was in remarkably good shape for it’s age. Looking inside the front cover was the name Calum MacArthur. Yet another MacArthur. A vast majority of the early pages detailed the livestock they had, some of them held his excitement over the possibility of going to university. As the hours drew on though, things began to take a strange turn.

_Winter 1870,_

_I always thought my grandsire was mad, talking of spirits. He and my da both told me from a wee lad about the ghost that haunted our halls. Never saw hide nor hair of her meself until a fortnight ago. I heard a clatter in the kitchen, like some person had snuck himself inside before the doors were locked. I ken that my da checks the house before he locks the gates, but from the noise I wondered if something was missed. I went to see just what had happened, and that’s when I saw her._

_She was just as they spoke of her, with her long hair and her bright eyes. I never thought she had existed, yet she was every bit as beautiful as they said. My da once said that the spirit was as bonnie as the rising moon, and I cannae say different. Like a mist, she was, like in the wee hours of a spring morn, and she had tears running down her face, shining like dew. I couldna help but watch her in silence. I feared she’d disappear if I made but one noise, though she faded all the same like a candle that’s been blown out._

_I asked da and grandsire who the lass was, and none had an idea. They both had said she’d been a spirit here as long as they kent, but none knew where she came from. Every now and again, they’d hear her singing songs of the country and she had a voice that rang out like church bells on a clear Sunday morn. Mayhap I shall see her again._

_-I’ve seen her again. I heard her singing The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond, and it was a bit of heaven to hear. Mayhap she’s and angel for I’ve never seen one as lovely as she. After the singing was done, she cried once more, and it tears my heart to see. I ask da why she weeps so, and he said her love abandoned her._

Genevieve yawned loud and stretched her tired body. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered Elsie telling her something about a spirit or ghost or something, but she hadn’t believed in such superstitions. If she chose to believe this journal, then there really was a spirit in the house.

_I wish I kent her name. To see her is to love her, and I fear she has a piece of my heart, and my da does not seem surprised. After seeing her so many times, I asked da why we men can see her, but not my sister or mother. He said that maybe it was so we could love her. She’s seen by the men who might love her, that’s why I was a man before I first laid eyes on her. He thinks she’s not of our time, from her dress and they way of her speech. It was grandsire’s grandsire who told him of her, and so on until he and da told me of the raven-haired beauty._

A chill stole over her when she read those last words. Raven-haired? She had black hair. And she remembered that in her first couple days in the house, she’d sang the very song Calum had written about. _It couldn’t be_ , she thought, but her chest tightened with anxiety. Surely it wasn’t possible…

_Her eyes are like the rich earth, vital and full of life, and no maiden has ever possessed hair so dark and lovely. I’ve tried my hand at drawing her, but she fades so quickly when I see her, it’s difficult to finish before she’s gone. I see how da and grandsire look when they speak of her; they’ve loved her too, but they were not the men to find her. Someday she’ll cross through this house and be flesh and blood, but I ken it well that ‘tis not likely to be within my year on this earth. She deserves love, whoever she may be. I’ve loved her beyond time, and tis likely true that I will always love her. I will speak of her to my sons, and their sons, and God be willing, mayhap even their sons. I will teach them how to honor love, and cherish it. Maybe one day she will find the love of her heart within these walls._

_God bless my raven-haired lass, and I pray she’s kept well and safe til she finds the love she deserves._

Brown eyes, raven hair, singing woman out of their time? Her hands trembled violently as she set aside the aged book and threw off her covers. On wobbling legs, she made her way back to the attic door followed closely by Angus, climbing back up carefully and leaving the dog behind. Genevieve dropped to her knees in front of the trunk again, this time opening the lid all the way before shining her light into it once more. What she was hoping to find, not even she knew. There were no other unwrapped books. She pulled out one of the wrapped bundles, which felt like papers and laid it across her lap. Her nerves kept her from breathing as she untied the twine holding it together and pulled off the sheet, but quickly escaped her as a sob when she saw what was held within. The top paper was a charcoal stretch of a woman, a woman who Genevieve saw every day in the mirror. Even without color, she could see herself of the paper, the distinct way her hair waved, and the way her hand was drawn touching her face.

Setting the top sheet aside, she found yet another drawing of herself in her sweats, sitting of the ground. Much like she had been earlier that day. What Calum and his family had seen wasn’t her as a ghost, but rather scenes from her life in the house. Somehow, across time, someone, several someone’s had loved her, and that brought a whole new round of tears. Maybe she’d been born in the wrong century to be loved. He’d written his heart on those pages, and he’d been right, he hadn’t been around to see her in the flesh.

Maybe she was one hundred and fifty years too late for love. Or maybe whatever tied her to this place was what kept her from being able to truly find love. She’d thought she’d found it with Evan, but that wasn’t so. Thinking of it, the men in Calum’s family saw her there, in their family home, which never would have happened if she’d broken up with Evan. Was fate that divisive, that it would cause her such pain in her life? Head and heart aching, she gingerly set the many drawings back into the trunk, shutting it to seal them away again. In the hours that it had taken her to read the journal, she had been put through the ringer. Being loved as a ghost a century and a half ago was heartbreaking, and dearly wished she could have met these men who loved her so well.

Back down the ladder, Genevieve collapsed to the ground, her poor knees giving out from the emotional strain. Angus looked at her with his sweet brown eyes welling with sympathy. He didn’t fight her at all when she pulled him to her and buried her face in his soft fur. The tears flowed freely and her breath came out in ragged sobs. How could this even happen to her?

At some point in her breakdown, Angus led her back to her bed and climbed up with her to cuddle up next to her. Any other time she would have scolded him, but now the great brown brute was a great comfort to her. And that was how she fell asleep, one arm clutching the journal and the other wrapped around Angus like he was her lifeline.

***

After her rough night’s sleep, Genevieve awoke red-eyed, feeling completely hollow. Even after catching Evan and Abigail together, she hadn’t felt this bereft, this completely hopeless. Her heart ached in depths she didn’t know existed, and her mind could not let go of the words she’d read. _I’ve loved her beyond time_. If such a thing were possible, she almost wished she’d never learned of it. Someone had once loved her, but she couldn’t be with them. It was impossible.

She shuffled listlessly down to the kitchen to give Angus his breakfast, and Genevieve’s raw nerves were prodded when she found the cupboards empty. The only thing she could make was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Again. The note on the front table floated through her memory; three underlines meant she was completely serious, but she had been so caught up with the journal and the drawings she hadn’t remembered like she normally would. Damn it all, her move had probably hurt her more than staying back home would have, but there was no helping it, she couldn’t just move home and forget that all of this had happened.

All that was left for her was to just soldier on; to live with the knowledge she was now burdened with. And call for groceries. One look out her window that morning had told her there would be no walking to the store for her. The snow would likely some to her knees, and the length of the trip back and forth would leave her legs nearly frost bitten, so she grabbed the paper with the store number and made a call.

“MacArthur’s, Magnus speaking, how can I help you?” The older man had a pleasant voice, his brogue rich and full.

“Hello, my name is Genevieve Donovan, and Mrs. Elsie McConnell said I should call the store if I needed groceries delivered.” She fervently hoped that Elsie had told her right, and that she wasn’t imposing on the shop owner. That would be a lovely way of making a first impression on the town.

“Aye, that’s right. What can I put together for ye?” Genevieve didn’t want to give them too much work to do, but her food stock was in sorry shape, as well as most of the other home goods.

“Well, I’m not sure what all you have,” she should have payed more attention when she was last in the store, “but I’ll need things for breakfast. And lunches. Dinners too.” Her voice trailed off, and she realized she should find a way to do the shopping herself. This was too much to ask the shop owner for.

“How do ye say it in the states? Ye need everything but the kitchen sink?” The mirth in his voice seeped through her melancholy, and she laughed. Though his words weren’t the funniest thing she’d ever heard, they lifted her spirits from the pit of her sadness and made her laughter come from deep within. Only once she was able to catch her breath could she respond.

“Yes, I guess I do.” Silence greeted her on the other end. Maybe the snow had interrupted the signal. She checked her bars and she still had two, do she pressed her phone to her ear again. “Mr. MacArthur?”

“Oh, I’m sorry lass, I was gathering wool. I’ll get it ready for ye, and send my son with the order. Have ye met him before?” There was now an odd tinge to his voice that sounded like nerves, but she cast it off. Something had probably just come up at the store that had him concerned.

“I can’t say that I have. I stopped by the store last week, but it was late so I only grabbed a few things. There was a girl there who was working the register. Bree I think was her name.” A friendly girl probably five or so years younger than Genevieve herself. They’d chatted about the weather, but Genevieve had been too jet lagged to recall much of the encounter.

“My daughter. I hope she didna talk yer ear off.”

“Don’t worry, I enjoyed her enthusiasm.” Who knew, maybe they could grow to be friends. Heavens knew she needed a friend these days.

“That’s good. I’ll start the work on this and have it to ye in say, an hour? Be on the look out for a red truck with the MacArthur’s sign on it.” They said their goodbyes, and she rushed off to change out of her night gown. Passing the den, she wondered once more over the owners of the books. MacArthur. Were they related to the shop owner somehow? She wasn’t certain how rare the surname was, for all she knew, MacArthur was the Scottish equivalent of the last name Smith, but then she remembered another name. Calum MacArthur. Were they all connected?

After dressing and letting Angus outside in his sweater, Genevieve found herself drawn back to the attic. Last night she’d been too overwhelmed to go through all the papers, but now with her relative calm, she climbed back up, determined to get the contents of the trunk downstairs into the light. Bundle by bundle, she carried them down the ladder and the stairs to the den under Angus’s watchful gaze. On her last trip down, she stopped by her bedroom to grab the journal, taking it with her down to the overcrowded coffee table where she set about carefully opening each bundle and going through the contents.

Most of the sketches of her were of her face, but there were a few of her in her sweats and even once or two in her night gown. Those brought a blush to her face at the intimate nature. She tried to imagine a young man, possibly many from the different styles and skill of the drawings, siting there and painstakingly recreating her likeness in charcoal. The bundles closest to the top of the trunk we’re at the bottom of her stacks on the table, but they looked to be the most recent. Knowing little of paper types and things like that, she couldn’t say exactly how old they were, but they were brighter in a way. Less faded.

Grabbing the journal once more, she flipped back to the spot that stood out to her in that moment. _I will speak of her to my sons, and their sons, and God be willing, mayhap even their sons._ A flash of color caught her eye in the last bundle she’d opened, and she pulled it out to see a portrait of a young, very handsome man. He had dark blond hair, almost brown but not quite, and the purest blue eyes she’d ever seen. This stranger had a kind look about him, and she felt like he was familiar to her. She flipped it over, and the name Calum MacArthur was written on the back. So this was Calum?

A sharp wrap on her front door made her drop the painting back to the table, and sent Angus rushing from her side excitedly to see who had come to see them. Hell, she was covered in dust again, but there was no time to go change, since she as the red truck parked outside her gate. With a hand on Angus’s collar, Genevieve drew the door open.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but thank you for driving out.” She’d been looking at Angus, to make sure he wasn’t going to be aggressive, but the moment she looked up, her breath left her. Holding a box of groceries in his arms, was a carbon copy of the portrait she’d just been looking at. His hair was a smidge darker, and he wore it longer, but those blue eyes. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she doubted she’d ever forget those eyes. As she stared at him, he stared back with a look that was a cross between amazement and horror. As though he’d seen a ghost.

“It’s you.” The warmth and awe in his words drew her from her stupor, enough to see the love in his eyes, mixed with heavy disbelief.

“Me?” If everything she thought was going on was true, she needed to hear it from him. To know she wasn’t going crazy.

“Sorry. I-. You’re-. Ye wouldna believe me if I told ye.” Uncertainty rolled off him in waves. This was confusing him as much as it was confusing her. A soft smile stole across her lips, and she left him standing there for a brief moment while she got something from the den.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” In her outstretched hand laid Calum’s journal, and his recognition showed clearly on his face. The man gave a sigh of relief that sent shivers down to her toes.

“Yer name lass, please tell me yer name.”

“Genevieve. My name is Genevieve.”

***

His name was Shaun. Calum’s great-great-great-great grandson, give or take a great or two. He told her of the “spirit” and how the legend had traveled though his family for generations. Shaun hadn’t believed any of it until, like Calum, he’d seen her apparition in his grandfather’s house. When asked why the family had sold the house, he and looked guilty, and admitted that he had been the driving factor in that decision. His grandfather Logan had left him the house when he’d gone off to live in a nursing home once his dementia had grown bad, and Shaun himself had decided to sell it because it held too many memories of too many men waiting to meet a woman who may or may not have existed.

Genevieve counted herself lucky that he had made that choice. Without it, she never would have known all of this. As for proving that she was real, it was a hard fact to disprove when he could take her into his arms.

After explaining as much as he could to her, he’d called his father to tell him the news, only to be shocked by the news that his father already knew who she was; he’d recognized her by her laughter over the phone. _Why do you think I sent you and not your sister_ , his father had asked him. With that done, he’d asked her if he could take her and Angus to see someone, and that someone happened to be his grandfather. Logan MacArthur was every bit as handsome as Shaun and Calum, even in his older years. He hadn’t recognized Shaun when he entered the room, but his eyes lit up when he saw Genevieve. For a moment, he was young again, seeing the angelic spirit for the first time, only this time that spirit took his hand and spoke to him. Their visit had been brief due to visiting hours, but she swore she would be back to see him again.

She’d kept her word, and had been back several times with Shaun and Angus, who had really been Logan’s dog all along, but wouldn’t leave the house since his master had left.

Nearly six weeks after her arrival in town, Genevieve laid on the floor by the fireplace with Shaun’s blonde head resting against her chest. As fast and unorthodox as their meeting had been, they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. He’d already been half in love with her when he’d first laid eyes on her, and after hours and hours of talking, it hadn’t taken her long to catch up. With the heat of the fire gently warming them, and the Christmas tree shinning in the glow of it, Genevieve had never been happier in her life. The past would never be forgotten, but it could be moved on from.

Genevieve leaned down and kissed the top of Shaun’s beloved head, thanking God that he loved her. Past space and beyond time, she was loved.


End file.
